Chapter 140

Hunting Is Waiting

“Baron—no, Sir Isaac! That man is my younger brother, Beltran! A traitor and usurper who killed our father and slaughtered our household!”

Bruno shouted, veins bulging in his neck.

“Answer my question first. Did you see it with your own eyes?”

“…Can you answer? Bruno, stake the honor of the Büchtner family. Hagen, stake your honor as a knight.”

“That’s not all. He attempted to murder a clergyman, escaped the Inquisition, and crawled his way here.”

Hagen spoke, barely maintaining his composure.

“Sir Isaac, Hagen’s younger sister was a maid at the Büchtner estate. She was killed during the rebellion. We are already exercising patience beyond our limits.”

Bruno’s voice trembled with agitation.

“You’re not answering the question—just spouting nonsense. Hm… aren’t you mistaken?”

“Are you saying I’m lying!?”

At last, Bruno shouted, his voice infused with mana.

Grrrr.

At that moment, the hell wolves that had been lying quietly in the corner rose and surrounded Bruno and Hagen.
They had sensed hostility toward Isaac.

The enormous beasts—each the size of a large tent—bared their teeth, their crimson eyes glowing.

Beltran remained frozen, staring at the vomit he had spilled onto the dirt.
He thought it might be easier if he just died like this.

“Strange. This guy’s name is Belon, you know. Hey, Belon. Hey.”

Isaac crouched down and lightly slapped Beltran’s cheek a few times.
Beltran’s unfocused eyes slowly turned toward him.

Isaac’s expression was the same as before—
when he had pulled him out of the carriage in the Papal State and set him free, telling him to go to Vinfelt.
That indifferent face, as if nothing was a big deal.

It hadn’t changed.

“Well?”

“…What?”

“Did you suddenly turn stupid? I asked if you’re Bruno’s brother and whether you killed Baron Büchtner.”

Blue eyes stared straight into Beltran.

“If you really are Beltran, then I have no choice but to hand you over to Bruno. But if you’re Belon, the logistics officer, then you’re my subordinate. Answer.”

“What kind of nonsense is that!?”

Hagen growled.

Grrrr!

The hell wolves growled even more fiercely in response.
Hagen had no choice but to release his aura—an instinctive act of self-defense.

“You couldn’t say you saw it either, right? Then it’s only fair to ask the person involved. Belon, answer.”

“I—I…”

“Apparently not.”

“…?”

Isaac cut off Beltran before he could confess.

“He says no. So you’re pointing your swords at me over something you didn’t even witness yourselves?”

“That’s ridiculous—!”

“Belon is my soldier. Drawing a blade against my soldier is no different from declaring war on me.”

“That bastard—!”

“I said Belon. I’m not finished, Bruno. Did you forget? You’ve been incorporated into my army. You’re under my command. If you don’t like it, go take revenge on Botmer by yourself. Or… we could settle it with a duel right here.”

Isaac adjusted his grip on his sword.

“Cool your heads.”

He glanced over the Büchtner soldiers who had gathered to protect Bruno and Hagen.
A golden glint shimmered within his blue eyes.

“Unless you want to die like dogs.”

“…!”

Bruno ground his teeth.
But he couldn’t act.

“Even if Belon is your brother and, as you claim, the murderer of Baron Büchtner—killing him here solves nothing. You know that.”

“And you must also know that it was Botmer who manipulated your brother. You, as the eldest, inherited all the privileges of Büchtner—so it’s not hard to guess that they tried to sway your younger brother instead.”

Bruno avoided Isaac’s gaze.
It had struck home.

“You want to prove something, don’t you, Bruno? Or do you just need someone to vent your anger on? On my innocent soldier? On someone who feeds, clothes, and houses hundreds of men under my command?”

“…!”

“Don’t misunderstand.”

Isaac stepped closer to Bruno.

“The moment you came under me, your anger became my responsibility. That’s what it means to become my sword.”

“If you’re going to let your emotions run wild and disrupt my camp, then go take your revenge on your own. Don’t strut around in front of me with a handful of twenty soldiers and one mediocre knight, you brat. I have no need for people like that in my army.”

Bruno bit his lip until it bled.
He lowered his head, unable to say anything.

Though he was Beltran’s older brother, he was still only seventeen.

“If you understand, stop causing trouble and go back to your quarters and rest… Young Master Büchtner.”

“…My apologies.”

Bruno spoke in a suppressed voice and quickly turned away.
Hagen openly showed his dissatisfaction, but said nothing as he followed after him.
His hand, as he sheathed his sword, trembled slightly.
He tried to hide it, but the impact from clashing with Isaac still lingered.

There was nothing to gain by pressing further.
Hesitantly, the Büchtner soldiers followed behind them.

“Get up, Belon. Don’t just lie there looking pathetic.”

Isaac grabbed Beltran’s arm and pulled him to his feet.
Then, in a low voice, he said:

“Don’t break. No one’s going to lift you up. Even so—don’t break.”

“…!”

Beltran looked at Isaac with wide eyes.

“Bill told me—without you, the logistics won’t function. Keep up the good work.”

Isaac patted Beltran’s shoulder a couple of times and turned away.

For a moment, silence fell over the central clearing.
Soldiers loosened their grips on swords and axes.
Tense shoulders gradually relaxed.

“Damn, I thought we were about to have a full-blown fight after a good meal.”

A red-nosed veteran grumbled.

“He’s not the kid we used to know anymore.”
“Sometimes the lord scares me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking.”
“Still… he takes care of his people.”

Other soldiers murmured among themselves.

“Wasn’t that a bit too harsh?”

Carlson, who had been watching from afar, approached Isaac.
Isaac was just about to head into the command tent with a mug of ale.

“Why don’t you grab a drink too?”
“I’ll pass.”
“Suit yourself.”

Isaac shrugged and stepped into the tent, taking a seat.

“If it came down to it, I was going to kill them.”
“…What?”

“Bruno and his lot.”
“Weren’t we in a situation where every man counted?”
“That’s true. But whether it’s one or ten—if they disrupt military discipline, you make an example of them. And it was about time for that anyway.”

Isaac took a sip of ale.

“I don’t think that one man—Belon—is worth more than Bruno’s entire unit.”
“He is. To me.”

Isaac answered while staring into his mug.

Watching Beltran didn’t feel like someone else’s story.
He had already heard everything from Raphael.
Beltran was just a boy caught in a massive political struggle.

But the guilt, the shame, the self-loathing he must feel—those would be immeasurable.
It was familiar.
Just like Isaac himself once was.

He might spend his entire life thinking that his family, his household—everything—had been destroyed because of him.

Isaac had been given a second chance.
But whether Beltran would ever receive such a miracle… that was uncertain.
Unless some god—or some transcendent coincidence—intervened.

“What kind of value do you mean?”
“There’s something like that.”

Of course, it wasn’t purely emotional.

Isaac wasn’t looking at the war with Botmer.
He was looking beyond it.
After the war—what came next.

The future of Goethe.
The future of Vinfelt.

Isaac intended to build a magic tower in Vinfelt.
And for that, he would need talented mages.

Beltran was one.
Though right now, he couldn’t even bring himself to stand tall.

“I still don’t understand why you’re so concerned about that soldier. You even gave orders to Günter and Bill about him.”
“It’s nothing serious. No need to dig into it. Though… my impression of Bruno played a part too.”

“Your impression?”

Carlson looked puzzled.

Bruno had only come to Vinfelt after hearing in Bern City that Isaac was recruiting mercenaries.
It had only been three days since his arrival.
There hadn’t been much time for any particular impression to form.

“I asked Venders to dig up some information. Turns out Büchtner isn’t much different from the other vassals. That bastard Bruno—he got into the Academy with Botmer’s money. If he knows that and still tries to judge Beltran, then he’s trash. If he doesn’t know, then he’s just a fool.”

“You really looked into it thoroughly.”
“That chest didn’t just go to my father and mother.”

Isaac tapped the long-distance communication device.

Several of them had been made under Reich’s supervision at the Blue Magic Tower.
One of them had also been delivered to the merchant council hall in Bern City.

Venders, who had connections with numerous merchants, was well-informed about nearby noble families.
Thanks to that, they had a significant advantage.

For example—Botmer’s army of five thousand was struggling to advance due to the blizzard.
Frozen roads restricted transport, and wagons broke down at every opportunity.
Nearly half of their horses and mules had collapsed from frostbite, forcing them to move while setting up camps.
Their marching speed had slowed drastically.

Continuous marching in extreme cold had shaken trust in their commanders,
and conflicts between vassals and collateral branches were also emerging.

“How do you find out all this?”
“Five thousand men, Carlson. With that many troops, supply is everything. They have no choice but to rely on nearby cities or large merchant groups. That means Bern City—and if it’s a major merchant network, Venders would know.”

“Then shouldn’t we act now? This is our chance to chip away at their forces with mobility.”
“Hmm… not sure.”

Isaac gently swirled his ale.

His gaze was fixed on the map spread across the table in the command tent.
There were no markings on it—nothing placed upon it.

But Isaac could see.

The information from Venders.
The intelligence from his father and mother through communication.
The weather.
The sensory awareness from the hell wolves.

All of it came together, forming a clear picture of Botmer’s army—and what would happen next.

“Have you ever hunted?”
“…What?”

“Back in the day, there was a magical beast in Valden called the Black-Horned Deer. Too big to really be called a deer, and it moved through mud like it was gliding. Many were injured or killed by its horns. It didn’t eat people, but it enjoyed killing them.”

Isaac recounted a story he had read.

“No one could catch it. Not mages, not aura users. It was too fast and too perceptive. But the one who finally caught it… was an old hunter. Not a mage, not an aura user.”

“…How did he catch it?”
“The hunter went into the swamp. He didn’t light a fire, didn’t set traps. He dug a hole in a mound of mud and just sat there.”

Normally, Carlson would have told him to get to the point—but this time, he found himself curious and stayed silent.

“The impatient village chief asked him, ‘What are you doing, old man Cher?’ The hunter replied, ‘Waiting for the soup. Go back and wait instead of rushing me.’ All he had was a kettle—with oyster shells, berry juice, and a bit of broth inside. And then he waited. For three days and nights. Without moving, without speaking—even careful with his breathing.”

“…Did he catch it?”
“On the third dawn, before the fog lifted, an unfamiliar breathing sound came from across the mud pit. The Black-Horned Deer had come. Drawn by hunger and curiosity. It approached the motionless hunter. And all the hunter did… was pull a single line.”

Isaac’s eyes gleamed faintly.

“The ground beneath the pit collapsed. The resin, gravel, and magical mixture beneath ignited. The mud boiled. And the beast couldn’t escape… until it was fully cooked.”

“…That beast is Botmer, isn’t it?”

“Winterband will become a swamp for Botmer. What I want isn’t to block him with Goethe’s strength… I want to crush him. And for that, we wait. Until the prey walks into the trap. Hunting is waiting.”

Isaac finished the rest of his ale.

Even now, Botmer’s army was desperately advancing toward Winterband—
toward a swamp they could never escape.

All Isaac had to do…
was wait calmly and keep his soldiers in peak condition.

—

Five days later.

A communication came from Count Goethe.

— Botmer has arrived. He’s begun setting up camp five hundred paces outside Winterband.

It was time for the hunter to pull the line.

Isaac gave the order to deploy.